Yesterday was awesome, Astoria and Daphne got into it surprisingly quickly, and at the end... And then... And when I... Ah, I love them.
Now I'm going to DADA class, thinking about Moody, I started singing along on the way.
My fists are strong and reliable -
I break logs with my palms!
I could have gone after you, Alduin,
But my knee's been shot.
I know a lot and I also want
Honour and eternal glory.
What a pity that today I need to see a doctor,
For my knee has been shot through.
My knee hurts,
My armour is covered in dust...
-Clean them!
-What for?
There are no heroes here
And the sweet roll
Hasn't been stolen yet.
I met a mad troll in my youth -
I fought him with my left hand.
To be born a hero is an enviable role,
But my knee was shot through.
We've been stuck in our cities for so long,
The roofs and walls are crushing us...
We should go out into the field and shout, "FUS-RO-DA!" (Armour flies into pieces before me)
But our knees have been shot through.
My knee hurts,
My armour is in the dust...
-Clean them!
-What's the point!
There are no heroes here
And the sweet roll
Hasn't been stolen yet.
Sometimes someone breaks out into a cry,
Not knowing the dragon's language,
And someone jumps to trample
To trample the laws of gravity.
And everyone hopes, believes and waits,
Leaning over a mug of foam,
That perhaps he too will slay Alduin,
But then they shoot him in the knee!
His knee hurts,
And sciatica...
It's a shame, but we're just people.
There are no heroes here
And the sweet roll
Is stale and lonely on the plate.
This song was once written by a bard who was in my cult. He and the kajit often spread something similar in that world. In general, propaganda has always been a part of my cult. Even now, thanks to Edward and Lovegood, several hundred wizards work for me, spreading my ideas and goals.
The magical world is one step away from being revealed. Another two or three years, and the worlds will be united, and my mother's mission will be accomplished.
Two days have passed, and today the participants of the tournament of three will be announced. All the Dows and Durmstrang students are sitting at the table, waiting for the cup decision. Daphne and Astoria, happy as cats, are sitting next to me on my left, Lily and Luna are sitting on my right. Lily keeps casting sly glances at her sisters, embarrassing them.
For the last time, the red-haired twins and their dim-witted brother number six try to pass through the barrier. These smart alecks got hold of an ageing potion, took it and stepped over the line. A second later, they flew back a couple of metres, their hair grey and long. Idiots.
"Please, everyone, take your seats! The cup is ready to make its decision!" said Dumbledore, approaching the cup.
Silence fell over the hall. Everyone watched as the headmaster approached the cup. He reached out his hand, the blue flame turned scarlet for a second and threw out a piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it and read it.
"The champion of Durmstrang... Viktor Krum!" Our table clapped joyfully, all the Northerners congratulated their comrade, seeing him off with joyful approval.
Viktor walked out with dignity, shaking the Headmaster's hand. Oh, if only he knew what the Headmaster was doing with those hands, he would have cast Avada Kedavra on him right away. Krum took his name and went to the room where the champions were gathering.
A second flash of red throws out a new piece of parchment, which is caught by Dumbledore.
"The champion of Beauxbatons... Fleur Delacour!" And here comes Veela. All the boys are looking at her, drooling, while the girl herself is trying not to look in my direction and not to blush.
The girl takes her parchment from the headmaster's hands and follows Kram.
The third flash was more powerful than the previous two, and a blood-red flame spat out the third parchment, stained with blood. Many recognised the name, but the headmaster read it in a voice that suggested he had expected no other name.
"Champion of Hogwarts, Alduin Potter. The friendly chorus of Durmstrang students congratulating me and wishing me luck, the satisfied smiles of my girlfriends and the contemptuous, envious glances of the Hogwarts students — that was the reaction to my name. The teachers just hung their heads in despair, while the headmasters of other schools smiled smugly, already writing me off as a young and inexperienced kid.
Comparing the reaction of the Durmstrang students, with whom I had been interacting for a couple of days and had already become good friends, with that of the Hogwarts students, I was disappointed. It was more a difference in character between the two peoples. Even in Skyrim, I noticed that the Nords living in the northern territories are more severe, but if you come in peace, they will accept you and throw you a feast. The same cannot be said of the elves and Imperials who live further south. They're more likely to invite you to the table right away, but then poison your food or cheat you out of a large sum of money.
In short, I'll have to tell Edward to establish ties with the northern mages.
When I went out to the director, I took my name without saying a word and went into the champions' room.
Upon entering, I headed towards Victor, who was already walking towards me, extending his hand for a handshake, then hugged me in a friendly manner, patting me on the shoulder.
"Ha, my friends and I knew that among all the European snobs, you were the one worthy! We knew it, and I'm glad I'll be competing against you!" Victor congratulated me joyfully. I took a bottle of mead out of my pocket under Kram's approving gaze. The northerner transformed three mugs, which I filled.
Approaching and handing a mug of mead to Veela, who looked at the drink shyly and uncertainly, we drank.
Then the judges entered the room with the directors and the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Bart Crouch.
Crouch and the teachers were unhappy, complaining that I was not yet seventeen, but according to the rules, I was now obliged to participate. The directors were pleased, and Dumbledore could not go against my will.
"The decision of the Goblet of Fire is a binding magical contract. So Mr Potter has no choice; from today, he is a participant in the magical games," Crouch concluded.
Boring school days followed, brightened only by evenings with my girlfriends and conversations with the Durmstrang students. A couple of times we had magical duels with them. Interestingly, they could use magic wands, but preferred staffs. I agree with them on that point: you can't go into close combat with a wand, but a club can help. Crowds of students came to watch our duels, and when, after casting spells, we started fighting in close combat, casting spells on our opponents along the way, everyone stood with their mouths open.
"You fight well! Where did you learn that? As far as we know, they don't teach that in Britain, and you can't get clubs there," asked Kram after the battle.
"When I was a child, there was nothing to do in the mountains, so I trained," I said, but Kram understood that I was not telling him everything and just nodded with a smile. Another trait of the northern peoples. They don't meddle in other people's business! I'm sure Ron would have started prying for details.
A week later, we were all called in for an interview with a journalist named Rita Skeeter. When I heard this, Lily went with me, like my, hehehe, mother.
"What a lovely trio! Hello, I'm Rita Skeeter. But you probably already know about me. It's you we don't know anything about. I'm here to rectify that oversight! What quirks lie behind those rosy cheeks? What secrets lie behind those muscles? Could it be that courage is hidden beneath that mop of hair?! I want to know everything about you, and my readers even more so. Let's start with the youngest!
With that, Rita grabbed me by the sleeve and led me to... a closet? Lily followed me, ignoring the journalist's disapproving look, which in a second turned into a sneer. I smelled a dung beetle, which already hinted at the reporter's character.
"So, tell me, Aldi, you're a twelve-year-old boy...
"He's fourteen," Lily corrected, but the journalist didn't pay any attention.
"Your rivals are not only older than you in age and morals, but they also know spells that you have never even dreamed of. Aren't you afraid?" Rita said with a smile, Lily struggling to hold back her laughter as she listened to it all.
"You seem to be underestimating me," Rita said with a smirk, the pen next to her scribbling ten words for every one of mine.
"Well, yes, you're not just a simple twelve-year-old boy, you're a legend," Rita continued.
"Fourteen," Lily managed to say without laughing. Rita looked at her sternly, then smiled.
"Tell me, how did you live with your mother? Were you her protector or was she yours? Did you or she have nightmares after the Dark Lord attacked? Did she seek comfort and protection from other men, or did she see in you... Her late husband? Or maybe she used to call you to sleep with her naked when you were a child? What did that turn into and how often did it happen? Do you still sleep together or is it something more?" After this speech, she naively blinked her eyes.
Lily blushed and looked at me, and Rita, seeing this, became flustered herself.
"Am I right? What about your wives? I heard you have two, and they're sisters? Is this some kind of trauma from your relationship with your mother? I grabbed the journalist by the throat and looked her in the eyes. I began to penetrate her mind and block her memory, changing her view of us for the better and programming her to be friendly. When I was done, I let go of the journalist and burned several dozen pages of my notebook, which was already filled with information about Lily and me.
The next day, an article appeared in the newspaper in which I spoke respectfully about the tournament participants, the judges, and the Ministry of Magic. Nothing that could harm me or my family. I just smiled at that.
Time continued to pass. The first round was getting closer and closer. One day, Lily came up to me and struck up a conversation.
"Aldi, you're going to be bored in the first test.
"Why's that?
"Dragons. There will be dragons in the first test.
"That's all? They said that champions died in the tournaments. But the fact that dragons are kept on chains in reserves like animals, that their skin and entrails are used to make clothes and ingredients, saddens me.
"But you'll change that, won't you?
"I will," I said, sitting the girl on my lap and kissing her.
One day, while walking around the castle, my attention was drawn to strange badges on the robes of Hogwarts students with my face on them, which were stained green and smeared with vomit. Some called me a fraud, others tried to insult me. When the Durmstrang students saw this, they furiously burned the badges right off the students' robes. Several girls were sent to the infirmary with broken arms, including Ron and Malfoy, who had come to his senses after his father's death. Such care and concern were very pleasant.
The day of the first round arrived. An arena was built for the battle. We sat in the tent and waited for further action.
Suddenly, the judges and directors entered the tent, followed by... Slytherin? What was he doing here?
"Good day, champions. Before the tournament, we called a master of magic wands to assess the condition of your instruments. We don't want you to enter the arena with a faulty wand, do we?" - said Dumbledore, just as a roar came from the stadium.
"Yes, yes, yes, you weren't expecting me, but here I am, hehehe, come on, give me your sticks." Said Sheo, approaching Kram.
"Hmm, Grab, 10¼," the dragon's heartstring. Rubbish! I would have used a Parmesan core! But it works.
"Rosewood, 9½," hair from Veela's head? Cheddar! I definitely should have used cheddar core! What hair? It's strange that it even works!" said Sheo, checking Fleur's wand.
When Sheo approached me and took Wabba-Jeck, which took on its true size in his hands, the "Master of Sticks" spoke.
"What the hell is this? Where's the back? Where's the front? Where's the middle? Who created this abomination? No, only a lunatic could do something like this. My advice to you, young man. Go and shove this thing up the backside of whoever made it and gave it to you! Well, that's it, good luck and may Syra be with you!" said Sheo, running out of the tent.
"Um, well, it seems to be working. Now we will choose your opponent." Crouch took out a bag.
"In this bag are miniature copies of those who await you in the arena. Your task is to retrieve the golden egg. So, let's start the draw. Ladies first." Veela reached into the bag and pulled out a green dragon. "Welsh green. Now you, Mr. Crum." The boy pulled out a red dragon with sharp spikes on its head. "A Chinese fireball! Mr. Potter, you're last." I pulled a small grey dragon with spikes all over its body out of the bag. It wriggled around in my palm and then settled down to sleep. Hungarian tailed dragon. So, Mr. Kram, you're first. On the signal, go.
When Kram waited for the cannon shot signalling the start, he went out. Kram fought for about twenty minutes. Roars and explosions could be heard from the arena. I wasn't afraid for the Dragon; it's very difficult to kill us, and anyone can be resurrected in all worlds.
Cram returned beaten, covered in blood, but with the egg. Next was Veela. The girl fought with the dragon for about fifteen minutes. As I understood from the waves of enchantment, she subdued the dragon. It was a pitiful sight. Are all dragons so weak here that they can be subjugated without even a cry? Although no, Dai, who guards our house in the forest, would never fall for that. But Fleur managed to put the dragon to sleep, take the egg, and as she was leaving, the dragon breathed fire on the girl's feet in its sleep.
When the girl finally made it to the tent with the egg, I decided to help and tease the enchanted Veela.
"Fleur? Let me help you, I know how to treat burns.
The girl resisted, blushing, but I managed to take her leg in my hands. At that moment, Veela was as red as a crab, I tore my trousers and ran my hand over the burn, using healing magic and... In short, I began to excite her even more with my magic.
The girl began to breathe more deeply, clenching her thighs and watching in amazement as the burn disappeared, leaving perfectly clean skin. Victor watched with a smile and nodded approvingly.
"And you didn't offer to help me heal," he said, smiling.
"Well, you're not a pretty blonde," I teased him back.
"Mr Potter, you're next."The judge entered the tent, inviting me into the arena.
When I stepped out, I saw the dragoness from whom I had to take the egg. She looked at me with malice, revealing her aura to recognise me as her leader, but to my surprise, it had no effect; she paid no attention. I decided to speak the language of dragons.
"I am Alduin! Devourer of Worlds, Scourge of Monarchs! Son and Firstborn of the Three Great Sisters! Recognise me as your leader!" - A vicious roar was my answer, as if she hadn't heard me. Very strange.
It was easy to penetrate the dragon's mind. There, in her memories, I found an interesting scene.
The dragoness was lying in a cage, with two red-haired guys standing in front of her. The sixth Weasley and another one, who I guessed was his older brother. In twenty minutes, the dragoness was supposed to enter the arena.
"Ron, are you sure? This is murder, and I could be punished," said the older of the redheads.
"Charlie, he's responsible for our sister's death! He has to die! Come on, do it," said the sixth.
As I now understood, Charlie took two huge syringes out of the box. One contained the sleeping serum that had been injected into Dova. The second syringe smelled like some kind of drug and a rage inducer. Both syringes were injected into the dragoness.
Yes, apparently with the weakening of their magic, the Dragons had lost even their immunity to poisons and serums. I had to fix everything urgently.
I left the mind of young Dova, promising to burn the entire family of redheads as soon as possible.
"Kin-Drem-Ov!" - Mira Kin's cry calmed every creature as he ran towards the fiery breath.
My battle cloak easily withstood the flames, and even without it, the fire would not have hurt me. Young Dova began to calm down, and the beginnings of reason appeared in her eyes.
I released my aura, and the dragoness sensed me, bowing her head. I pointed to the golden egg, which she grabbed with her mouth a few seconds later and handed to me loyally. Then the dragoness whimpered, showing all the suffering she was going through.
"Two years. Hold on for two years, and magic will come along with freedom," I said in dragon language. After my words, the dragoness nodded and released a pillar of flame into the sky, showing me respect.
Well, it's time for me to go back. I still have to deal with the redheads.
***
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